


I Hope, I Think, I Know

by wesleyfanfiction_archivist



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-05-30
Updated: 2005-05-29
Packaged: 2018-07-12 08:26:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7094227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wesleyfanfiction_archivist/pseuds/wesleyfanfiction_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wes and Angel have reached a turning point in their relationship. Set between Seasons 1 & 2</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1/2

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Versaphile, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [WesleyFanfiction.net](http://fanlore.org/wiki/WesleyFanFiction.Net). Deciding that it needed to have a more long-term home, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact the e-mail address on [WesleyFanfiction.net collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/wesleyfanfiction/profile).

Notes: I originally wrote this in Oct, 2000 and it was my first attempt at writing slash. Please keep that in mind when you read this. *g* The title is from an Oasis song. 

 

ANGEL

It's 3 a.m., and I'm restless. I've been out since sundown, but everything is quiet for once, so I head back to Cordelia's - my temporary home - for a little late night T.V., or maybe a game of chess with Dennis. I quietly unlock the door with 'my' key and I'm about to flip on the lights, when I see him. Wesley. He’s sitting at the dining room table with his books spread out before him, and he is fast asleep, head pillowed on a stack of papers. It’s irrational to say my heart leaps at the sight of him, since I have no heartbeat, but I feel it just the same. He is so beautiful when he sleeps - I could watch him forever, I think.

I don't remember silently gliding across the room, but here I am, standing over him. The moon is shining brightly through a break in the curtains and its light is softly bathing him, embracing him like I wish I could. I can hear the slight wheeze of his snore as his back rises and falls in time with it.

Not for the first time, I try to think back to the first time I ever saw Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, wannabe Watcher, but I can't. Truth be told, he made no impression on me at all. He was just 'some guy' that Buffy had no respect for. As always, I had followed her lead. He wasn't gonna last long anyway. Boy, was I wrong. The more I saw of him, the less I liked him: arrogant, bossy, and completely useless in a fight. Gotta give him credit for having guts though, knowing what I am - what I once was - and still daring to come into _my_ home to kidnap Faith. It was a bone-head move, but one he probably wouldn't have made if we'd included him more into our confidences.

Wesley has turned his head over now, and I can see his face more clearly. He looks almost like a child when he sleeps, and I have to resist the urge to wipe away a tiny line of drool as it creeps down his chin. When did I start to feel such affection for this man? There are so many little moments that I treasure: the time he stuck his fighting adz into the wall, and couldn't get it out; the way he tenderly reassured Cordelia that he'd stay by her, even though his fear of her demonic pregnancy was written on his face; the day he and Cordy faught over her using his demon hunting knife to cut her brownies; the night he stood up to Angelus, and then forgave me for the terribly cruel things I had said to him. Wesley is like a cat, only with a hundred lives. The more life knocks him down, the quicker he is to get up and try again. I suppose it just dawned on my one day, that I really do care what happens to him as much as I do Cordelia.

When did I first lust after Wesley? That one is easy. It was the night he and Cordelia rescued me from the gladiator ring. I was pretty messed up, and Wes insisted on staying, after Cordy had gone home, to help me dress my wounds. Just the feel of his warm slender fingers on my back and chest was enough to drive me wild. He was so tender, and his face so full of concern, that I felt myself falling into his blue-grey stare. That was the first time I wanted to grab his face and kiss him. 

I knew I was in love with him the moment I saw our office explode. The fear that he might be inside was almost too much for me to bear, especially after what had happened to Cordelia....and Doyle. Who knew I would ever be willing to run through a wall of fire in search of _Wesley_?

I just want to sit here and watch him sleep. I move to push aside one of his books so I can sit on the edge of the table, but another one tips off the side with a loud thud.

"Shit!"

Wesley stirs and gazes up at me with bleary eyes. "Angel, is there something wrong? Do you need me?"

"Yeah, Wes, I need you."

Shit, I hadn't meant to say that out loud. He’s smiling at me now, eager to please, rubbing the sleep from his eyes with those long fingers of his. He finds his glasses and firmly plants them back on his nose.

"Angel?"

Even with the moonlight, it is too dark in here for me to see if those big concerned eyes are blue or grey tonight. Not that it matters much to me. I like them both ways.

My hands are acting independently from my brain, apparently. I have reached down and I'm lightly running my fingers down the side of his face. I've frightened him now. I can see it in his eyes. That and the fact that he's out of his chair, backing away from me.

"A-Angel?"

I wish he'd stop saying that. I back off and hold my hands up in a surrender pose.

"It's okay, Wes. I'm still me. I didn't mean to startle you." He doesn't trust me and that hurts. He must see that, because now he's in apologetic puppy mode.

"I'm sorry. I fell asleep. I was researching that latest demon we encountered last week. No luck yet, I'm afraid. I - is there anything you need me to do?"

Maybe it's the moonlight. Maybe it's those drinks I had at the bar before I came back. I can't stop myself from moving closer to my quarry. He just keeps looking at me, all innocent and trusting. Fuck it, I can't wait any longer. I'm so close he’s pinned to the wall. 

"What would you _like_ to do, Wes?" 

Oh, please, tell me I did not just say that.

"Oh...ah... _Oh_!" 

He gets it now and, even in this light, I can see him blushing.

"Angel, I'm not...uh...I don't..."

I back off a little. 

"I know you don't, Wesley. I'm sorry. I was just teasing....uh, I got carried away, that's all."

He's got his head cocked to one side, and he's scrutinizing me closely. I swear I feel hot. Can vampires blush? His eyebrows are all scrunched together and his lips are practically non-existent, he's pursing them so tight. I still want to kiss him, scrunchy face and all, but I can't. I should never have started this. I turn to leave, but his voice stops me.

"Angel, wait..."

* * * * * * * 

WESLEY

I wake with a start, disoriented at first. I look up to find Angel looming over me, a strange expression on his face that I've not seen before. The moonlight shining off his pale skin gives him an eerie glow. I look around and realize I am still at Cordelia's. I’d been asleep, face down in my work again. 

"Angel, is there something wrong? Do you need me?"

"Yeah, Wes, I need you."

I smile, ready for action. Well, alright, not quite ready. I wipe the sleep from my eyes and hunt down my glasses. I’m waiting for Angel to continue, but he just stares at me with that odd little look.

"Angel?"

He’s touching my face. Why is he touching my face like that? I am frozen with fear and only one thought shoots through my brain: _Angelus_! I don’t dare take my eyes off his, but manage to stand and back away. Not that this will help if he really has turned again. 

"A-Angel?"

He is retreating a bit. My instincts tell me he is still Angel - not Angelus. I cannot explain how I know; I just do. He appears to be in pain. It appears I've hurt his feelings. It invariably surprises me when he allows his emotions to show through his brooding facade. I feel bad and try to cover up by babbling about our latest case. I’m not even listening to what I'm saying. If he hasn't turned, why is he unnerving me so?

"Is there anything you need me to do?" I ask expectantly, hoping to get back to familiar territory.

He’s moving closer to me again. I’m already against the wall and still he keeps advancing. He is so close that I should be able to feel his breath on me. Damn, I forgot, there is no breath.

"What would you _like_ to do, Wes?"

His voice is unexpectedly husky, thick with -

"Oh...ah... _Oh_!"

He's coming on to me. _Me_! I can feel the heat radiating from my cheeks and spreading throughout my entire body. Surely, he doesn't think I'm...I mean, I would think Angel, of all people, could see past that 'British Poofter' stereotype. Unless he has misinterpreted my eagerness to please for something else.

"Angel, I'm not...that is, I don't..." Smooth Wesley, very smooth.

He’s falling back again, pretending it was all a joke. Except, Angel doesn't joke. I inspect him closely; I have shifted into 'investigation mode'. He is sweating, and I would swear he was flushed, if I thought it possible. He won't meet my gaze and he cannot seem to keep his hands still. I don't think he was kidding, and I am suddenly awash in my own emotions: compassion, sympathy, wonder, pride...love.

That I love my vampire employer is of no surprise to me. It is not a sexual thing, but rather a pure love for another hu- well, being. He was the first person - yes, I do think of him as a person - in my life that, after watching me fail time and again, still invited me into his life. He accepts me as I am, faults and all, and I love him for that.

I think back to the first time I ever saw him: at the Bronze with Buffy. He was so calm, strong, and self-assured, and he treated me like I was nothing. That he held the affections of the Slayer was obvious. The encounter left me bewildered, floundering, and extremely jealous. Finding out later that he was indeed the vampire Angelus, certainly did nothing to improve my opinion of him. Of course, at the time, I was much too narrow-minded to see what was really going on.

I cannot help but shudder when I think of the two lowest points in my short-lived career in Sunnydale. The first was my failed attempt at returning Faith to England. How I ever had the audacity to enter Angel's lair, to strike him down and remove Faith from his care, is beyond me. That Angel brought it up to me nearly a year later, still with bitterness in his voice, is a testimony to the magnitude of my mistake. The second was not really my fault, but I still look back on it with shame. Angel lay dying, the Slayer - his lover - asking me for help. I truly believe I did everything I could; the Council refused to budge. Yet, I am ashamed that I could not have been more compassionate, more understanding. Perhaps if I had been Buffy would not have felt compelled to quit the Council, leading to the downward spiral that was my career as a Watcher. 

The thought I truly cannot bear, however, is how different - how much worse - my life would be right now, had Angel died back then. I think - no, I _know_ \- I would now gladly give my life to save his. The irony of an ex-Watcher willing to die for a vampire with a soul is not lost on me. I cannot help smiling to myself.

I am quickly roused from my reflections when Angel turns to leave. Suddenly, I don't want him to.

"Angel, wait."

He turns back to me, slowly, his thoughts unreadable. I am seized momentarily by panic. My mind is not sure what comes next, but plainly my body is. This time it is I who approaches Angel, and he who is hesitant, unsure of my motives. I don't stop moving until we are inches from each other.

"What do you want, Wesley? I told you to forget it."

Is that hope in his eyes? There’s no going back now, as I swallow the lump growing in my throat. My mouth is so dry my tongue feels like sandpaper.

"I don't want to forget it, Angel. I want to _do_ something for you."

When did my hands move to his hips? I am so nervous, I'm shaking. Am I afraid he will say yes, or am I afraid he will reject me?

"I don't need the pity party, Wes."

He sounds very angry, which perplexes me. Have I made a horrible mistake? I notice he hasn't moved away from me though, and my hands are still where I left them.

"It's not pity, Angel. I - I just want to show you how much I care about you."

Time is frozen as we stand facing each other, then I feel his fingers running along my face again. This time I sense the affection behind the gesture. He truly does care about me, I realize. Tears spring to my eyes but I fight them back. I feel his other hand resting on my hip as he pulls me even closer. 

"Angel? You asked me what I wanted..."

"Yes?"

"I - I want to feel your breath on my face."

The request clearly startles him, which for some reason amuses me. I can feel myself grinning like an idiot. Now he’s smiling too. I never noticed what a charming smile he has. It lights up his whole face. I must remember to tell him that sometime. I watch him as he leans in towards me, and our noses touch. I realize I am holding my breath, then I feel it - his soft breath blowing against my lips. This simple sensation seems to ignite a fiery passion inside me, as, much to my amazement, my body begins to react to his closeness and his touch. He’s not a man; he is merely Angel. I put a hand on his chest and feel it moving up and down, mirroring a normal breathing pattern. For some reason, this is comforting to me.

"Are you sure you want this, Wesley?"

He is providing me with an out, even though I can feel him pressing against me, wanting me. I raise my hand to his face, to trace its outline gently, and nod only once before our lips come crashing together in a deep kiss.

-end of part one-


	2. 2/2

ANGEL

He's calling after me, but I'm not sure I should stay. I don't trust myself with him tonight. I turn around anyway, trying to mask my thoughts. He looks frightened, but he's coming towards me anyway. Now _I'm_ frightened. He finally stops, right in front of me. 

"What do you want, Wesley? I told you to forget it." 

His hands are on my hips and I feel him shaking. 

"I don't need the pity party, Wes." 

My voice came out harsher than I'd intended it to. I just hate to see him doing something he's going to regret later, out of some misplaced feeling of duty. I've upset him again; he looks hurt and confused. I can't stand to see him upset. 

"It's not pity, Angel. I - I just want to show you how much I care about you." 

If my heart were beating, it would have stopped. My world just flipped upside down. I reach out to him once again, in a gesture now familiar to him. I pretend not to notice his tears, and pull his body closer to mine. I like the feel of his soft cotton shirt and the denim of his jeans brushing against my arm. He always looks so good in blue. My hips involuntarily thrust against his leg, but he doesn't seem to notice. 

"Angel? You asked me what I wanted..." 

"Yes?" 

I -I want to feel your breath on my face." 

His request throws me for a loop. I never expected him to say _that_. I must have a goofy look on my face because he’s grinning at me. My insides turn to mush when I see that beautiful smile, and I realize I’m smiling too. It's such a simple request, not that I'd be able to deny him _much_ at the moment. I raise my face up to meet his, until we are nose to nose. Somewhere in the back of my brain it registers that I can't feel _his_ breathing, but I concentrate on my own. While I don't need to breathe to exist, I can do it when I want to, and even unconsciously maintain it for quite a while. 

From the first breath on his face, Wesley feels different in my arms. One hand rests on my chest and he is leaning into me, his body creating friction against mine. He’s also getting very warm, and, finally, I can feel his panting on my face. Still, I want to give him a way out, before things go any further. 

"Are you sure you want this, Wesley?" 

His fingers are running delicately along my face. I never knew how erotic that could feel. I barely allow time for him to nod, before pulling him in for our first kiss. I want to devour his mouth, but manage a modicum of restraint. He tastes sweet, like I somehow knew he would. His smell wafts over me: Ivory soap, mixed with sweat and cologne. 

My companion begins to struggle against me and I finally remember he needs to breathe. His face is red and his eyes are glassy as he gasps for air. 

"Sorry, luv." 

He's stiffening in my arms and I realize I've said the wrong thing. I don’t even know where that came from. I nervously run my fingers through his hair, pleading to him with my eyes for forgiveness. The smile wavers, but then returns to his face. I can't help letting out a sigh of relief. He relaxes again, and I can feel his hands running up and down my back. It feels good, but I can think of another place I'd like his touch. I decide to show him, and reach down to squeeze his crotch through his jeans. I am rewarded with a groan escaping his lips, and I can feel him growing hard against my hand. 

He’s begun to kiss my neck, and the sensation is driving me wild. I bury my face in his neck; his pulse is throbbing against my lips. The sudden desire to bite him swoops in out of nowhere, enveloping me. I actually feel one of my fangs scrape his skin before I come to my senses. We pull away from each other, and I know he is aware of what nearly happened. All the color has drained from his face; he’s eyeing me guardedly. Angelus is foremost in his thoughts again. He knows too much about my past to ever trust me completely. 

A wave of despair flows over me, and I slink over to Cordelia's couch, where I sit with my head in my hands. I keep listening for the sound of the apartment door opening, but it doesn't come. I peek up and Wesley is still standing firm where I left him, and he's watching me intently. I hate him for his ability to look so detached, so clinical. I examine him closer though, and can see how terribly conflicted he really is. I can sense anger rolling off of him, which stuns me. Is he angry with me? Not that I would blame him, if he was. 

In one swift move, he is kneeling on the rug in front of me, his strong fingers gripping my knees tightly, his face peering anxiously up into mine. He is still angry, but not with me. 

"It's not fair, Angel. After all the good you have done, you're still being punished." 

"I can never make up for all the evil I did before, Wesley," I say softly. 

"That wasn't you - that was the demon inside you."

"The demon is _still_ inside me, Wes," I remind him. 

His innocence is going to break my heart. He looks like I kicked him in the stomach. Without another word, I pull him up onto the sofa with me and wrap my arms around his wirey frame, holding him close. I don't like letting him go, but he pulls back to study me intently. He is wearing his most stubborn, determined face - the one he usually brings out when I try to keep him from going demon hunting with me. He can be so child-like at times. 

I don't have long to wonder what's on his mind, before he leans in and kisses me. Okay, forget what I said about child-like. I get the feeling he's made up his mind, and I'm sure not gonna stop him. His hand’s on my crotch now, and he's rubbing me hard again. His other hand has snaked under my black sweater and he's tweaking my hardening nipples, first one then the other. I sure never took him for the aggressive type. I laugh against his kiss and he pulls back, wearing a pout. 

"Stop looking so wounded," I tease. "I just wanted to suggest we go to my bedroom. This couch doesn't look too comfortable for what I have in mind." 

I raise one eyebrow suggestively and delight in seeing Wesley blush again. I cup his chin in my hand for a beat, then pull him up with me, leading him to my tiny, temporary sanctuary. 

* * * * * * *

WESLEY 

I never thought a kiss from a man, let alone a preternatural one, could feel so good; not that I have had alot of experience kissing women either. My head is spinning and I feel like I may pass out. Warning alarms go off. _Oxygen_. I can't breathe. I push against him and he finally releases me with a sheepish grin. He forgot. 

"Sorry, luv." 

The name _Faith_ screams through my head, and I can’t help but recoil from it. Angel couldn’t have known she called me that, that night she... He looks so worried now; he thinks he did something wrong. I take a deep breath and try to smile reassuringly. I’m not sure if I succeeded however, so I wrap my arms around him once more, feeling his muscles through his thin black sweater. 

Oh God, he's got hold of me and I find myself moaning. It feels _so_ good. This is really happening. I lean in to kiss his neck and to smell his musky smell. Now he's kissing my neck too and the shared experience is exhilerating - or is it the hand rubbing my crotch that’s doing it? 

There’s a scraping sensation along my jugular. _Panic_! I shove myself away. He was going to bite me. I felt his fangs on my throat. How can I be so sure he isn't Angelus after all? He could be toying with me. Think, Wesley. Use your brain. You've dealt with Angelus before. 

I watch him closely, as he goes to the sofa, a picture of despair. I could just leave now. That would probably be best. But, I can't move; I can only watch him. I have gotten a glimpse of what it must be like for Angel every day - to want so much, and not be allowed any of it. I am furious: at the gypsies and their curse; at the Powers that Be; at Darla; at myself, for not being able to trust him. 

Before I can second guess my decision, I am on my knees in front of him. I want him to feel better, and I try to put the blame on anyone but him, on the demon Darla cursed him with. 

"The demon is _still_ inside me, Wes." 

I don’t want to hear it. I know it's true, of course, but I want to pretend it's not, at least for tonight. He has me up in his strong arms now, trying to placate me. I want him to know I've made my choice - demon or not, I want to be with him. I look deeply into his eyes, and then I kiss him. I feel a need to bury myself inside him, to feel his bare skin under my touch. As I rub his chest under his shirt, I can hear him laughing at me. I wish he would stop sending me on this emotional roller coaster. I can’t take much more. I think I miss Angel's laconic side. 

"Stop looking so wounded." 

He's teasing me. I can feel myself blushing again as he suggests we move to his bedroom. Ever the obedient puppy, I allow him to lead me there. 

The room is very small, but it serves it's purpose. There is a twin bed, and a closet for Angel's new wardrobe. A few salvaged weapons and belongings are stacked on the floor, in the corner. The single window is covered securely with a heavy drapery. 

I hesitate, the full impact of our impending actions becoming real at the sight of the bed. The bedspread is black, no doubt a subtle joke of Cordelia's, and it is neatly made. I shove aside the rising panic and swallow hard, looking pleadingly at my future lover, hoping he will take charge. He must have read my mind because he is over to me now, laying feathery kisses on my face and neck, his fingers working to unbutton my shirt. 

I can only stand there, arms at my sides, until Angel chuckles softly and reaches down. He moves my hands to the fastener on his trousers, as he begins to unfasten mine. I fumble with the clasp, and eventually I manage to unzip them. I can feel him, rock hard, under my shakey fingers. He thrusts his hand down my pants while his mouth works its way down my chest, capturing my left nipple. With this double stimulus I can only tilt my head back and release a loud, gutteral groan. He’s laughing again, as he puts a finger to my lips and indicates, with a nod of his head, the far wall. Of course - Cordelia. I had quite forgotten she was in the next room. 

Taking a bit of the initiative, I slide his sweater up and off and stop, mesmerized by the broad expanse of his naked torso. I lick my lips hungrily, as he yanks my shirt down off my arms. With one deft tug, my trousers and boxers drop to my ankles. I am completely exposed. He finishes my job for me, shoving his trousers down, lifting each foot to remove his shoes and shake loose the offending clothing. I manage to do the same, before he pulls me into his crushing embrace. Our groins grind together fiercely, and our hands wind through each other's hair as our tongues flick in and out of each other's mouths. 

I feel like I’m flying, but it's just Angel shoving me down onto the bed. He climbs on top of me and pins me down with his leg, while his mouth continues to ravage mine. His skin feels cool against my hot sweaty body. I feel his hand tugging on my nearly painful erection and, for the first time, I reach for his too, tentatively at first, but then with long, confident strokes. It is Angel that moans now, and I grin under his kiss. We break apart and I can't help but look at him adoringly. I reach up to put my hand against his cheek, and he moves to kiss it. 

Angel slides his hand to the end of my erection and runs his thumb over the tip, and I can feel myself reaching the edge. 

"Angel," I gasp. 

"Just a little longer, Wes," he manages to grunt. 

He slows his pace slightly, while I increase mine. He is panting in my face now, and his eyes are wild and unseeing. I close mine, just trying to hang on. 

"Now," he gasps, then he is rocking into me and we writhe together in mutual pleasure. I release myself into his hand with a shudder, and his come spreads stickily across my stomach and chest moments later. Completely spent, all I can manage is to lie back on the bed, and fondle his hair, as he licks my torso clean. He comes up now, for a salty kiss, and collapses on top of me, exhausted. Our bodies entwine and I feel sleep overtaking me, when I hear his whisper in my ear. 

"I love you, Wes." 

"I love you too, Angel." 

I realize he means it, and my final thoughts, before sleep, are of how happy I am. 

~~~the end~~~


End file.
